Harry Potter: The Wizard of Apocalypse

Ian did everything he could, and after being busy inside and outside for a long time, his stomach began rumbling.

He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was already past one o'clock in the afternoon. Glancing at Irene lying on the bed, he gently closed the door behind him.

He pulled pots, pans, and various utensils from his enchanted backpack. Though he had a small diesel generator with sufficient fuel, he lacked proper wiring, so he resorted to more primitive cooking methods.

Ian took out an endless supply of firewood from his magically enhanced backpack, lit a small fire using a simple Incendio spell, and set up a makeshift stove.

Knowing that Irene hadn't eaten in days, he decided to prepare something light and easy to digest. He rinsed the rice, boiled water, and began cooking porridge. Next, he cleaned and chopped some vegetables.

The aroma of food filled the air as a pot of simple but nutritious egg and vegetable porridge came to completion. He sprinkled in some salt and gave it a final stir.

Pouring himself a bowl, Ian sat on the ground to eat. Perhaps he was hungrier than he realized, as he had another half bowl before he finally felt satisfied.

Turning back to the pot, he added water to prevent it from drying out and then retrieved a chair from his backpack. Sitting in the chair, he stared at a small patch of plowed land outside the window, lost in thought about the unconscious woman lying on the bed.

A pang of guilt gnawed at him. If her situation had nothing to do with him, he wouldn't have been so bothered, even if she had died. But this time, it was different, and that weighed on him.

He didn't know how much time had passed when Irene's eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her pupils were unfocused as she stared at the unfamiliar white ceiling in confusion.

Where am I?

"Hiss—"

She attempted to sit up, but her body, weakened from days without food, failed her.

Why am I lying here?

Her hand instinctively reached for her clothing. Finding them intact and her small-caliber pistol still at her waist, she exhaled in relief.

Minutes passed before she managed to sit up. She took in the spotless floor, the clean white bedding, and the smooth, undecorated walls that somehow felt luxurious in these apocalyptic times.

The room was impossibly clean, something Irene hadn't seen since the fungus outbreak. With water supplies running scarce and no electricity, even basic hygiene had become a luxury.

She carefully surveyed the room, hearing faint noises beyond the door. Slowly, she struggled to stand.

Gripping the door handle, Irene pulled it open. The noise grew clearer—a rhythmic hum, like the sound of a diesel engine.

Ian, having finished his meal and rested briefly, decided to make better use of his time. With some effort, he successfully connected the power supply to the villa, bringing electricity back to the space.

Hearing movement behind him, Ian turned to see Irene standing weakly at the doorway. Relief washed over him. Her ability to move meant she was recovering.

"You're finally awake," he said, feigning annoyance. "Working on an empty stomach—brilliant idea. This isn't a sweatshop. If you haven't eaten, say so."

Realizing she'd just woken up and was likely disoriented, Ian softened his tone.

"Never mind. Go sit in the living room. I'm cooking porridge—it'll be ready soon."

Having finished the earlier batch himself, Ian set about making another pot. This time, with the villa's power restored, he used a brand-new induction cooker he'd taken from an abandoned store.

As Ian chopped vegetables, Irene stood quietly at the doorway, watching him. Her eyes grew misty.

She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be cared for. The last time someone had done so was before the fungus outbreak, when her mother made her a late-night meal after a long day at work. The memory brought tears to her eyes, which she quickly wiped away before Ian could notice.

She turned and walked silently to the living room, murmuring a soft "thank you" under her breath.

Entering the living room, Irene saw the sparse furniture: a small walnut table, three high-backed chairs, and a pile of supplies stacked in one corner.

Unbeknownst to her, these few items represented the entirety of Ian's possessions stored within his enchanted backpack.

Sitting in a chair, she stared blankly at two soup spoons on the table.

A quarter of an hour later, Ian emerged with two steaming bowls of freshly made egg and vegetable porridge.

"Eat," he said, placing one bowl in front of her before sitting across the table.

Irene picked up her spoon and began eating in small, careful bites. Though she was ravenous, she maintained an air of composure.

The two ate in silence. Ian, naturally reserved, didn't mind the quiet, but he couldn't help wondering about her sudden reticence.

When they'd first met, though she'd been anxious, she was at least talkative. Now, after fainting, she seemed distant.

Finally breaking the silence, Irene asked, "What are your plans for the future?"

Ian paused, considered her question, and replied,

"I've gathered enough supplies here. As you can see, I plan to reclaim the wasteland for planting. Even if the world ends, I intend to live well."

Irene fell silent again, her expression unreadable.

Ian, unwilling to dwell on the grim atmosphere, said, "By the way, how long has it been since you last ate? Your low blood sugar today was dangerous."

Before she could answer, he added, "Never mind. Let's not dwell on that. There may not be many survivors left in this world, but I hope you'll take better care of yourself from now on."

He paused before continuing, "I'll pay you in advance if you'd like. As for the farming work, there's no rush. You have two weeks to complete it. And, as you've probably noticed, I have plenty of supplies here. If you need anything, just ask."

Ian decided to make good on his promise to support her. He brought out a suitcase filled with essentials: toiletries, purified water, potatoes, salt, and long-lasting foods like chocolate and toffee.

Pointing to the suitcase, he said, "Take these. Call it an advance payment if you want."

He added, "Tomorrow, I'll set up a simple water reservoir outside. You can use it for washing or cleaning. Drinking water will be stored indoors—you can fill your bottles anytime."

"Thank you," Irene replied softly. "I'll start work tomorrow."

Watching her take the suitcase and leave, Ian wondered if he could ever understand her stubbornness. Shrugging, he resolved to make her tasks as manageable as possible.

That night, as Ian busied himself organizing supplies, Irene sat silently in the corner, watching him. For the first time in years, the world felt a little less bleak.